Danielle Aitken

NOTICE THE SPACE BETWEEN THE BREATH

pexels-photo-668353.jpeg

This is one of my favorite passages in “Sarah's Story: Life after IVF” by Danielle Aitken.

 

— ‘The Buddha taught many different types of meditation, let us begin with one. Now please be comfortable, and we will begin.’

Banyu squats down beside me.

‘Bring your attention into the present and you may like to stare at the Buddha statue right there.’ He gestures to the front of the room. ‘Really notice it now, Miss Sarah, the details, colors, notice your thoughts arising ... let them come ... let them go ... without judgement.’

I look at the statue for a few minutes, and it is true that I do see things that previously went unobserved.

‘Now close your eyes.’ He pauses for maybe a minute. ‘Now be fully aware of your body in this space, in this room. Release tensions from the body.’

He leads and directs my attention throughout my entire body and instructs me to be relaxed yet alert all at the same time.

‘Excellent, Miss Sarah, now think, what is it you want to achieve from your meditation today, do you want to tame the monkey mind? Bring your awareness to your breath. Meditation is an alert state of focused attention, the opposite to sluggishness. Let your attention explore the breath as though you have never really noticed it before. Notice your breath in ... notice as you breathe out.’

Silent pause.
‘Notice the space between the breath.’
Silence.
‘Notice where the air travels.’
Silence.
‘Notice the temperature of the air.’
Silence.
‘Notice how the breath out relaxes you more  deeply.’ Silence.

‘Notice the movement in your body as you breathe.’ Silence.
‘Now we will count the breath. Breathe in ... one.

Breathe out. Breathe in ... two. Breathe out. Breathe in ... three. Breathe out. Breathe in ... four. Breathe out.’

Banyu continued to direct me until we reached ten breaths and then he instructed me to go back to one and begin again solo.

‘Thoughts will come, Miss Sarah. You must take charge. When you are aware of thoughts you can return your attention to the breath.’

As I sat, to my astonishment I was enjoying the feeling of peace and tranquility flowing through me. Wow, Banyu, you’re a star. Oops, monkey mind. Back to the breath. I smiled.

For the next weeks Banyu instructed me on all things meditation and I was a good student. Meditation became my practice morning and night. As the weeks passed into months I found that I was actually looking forward to my meditations. There was something quite different about the feeling I experienced when I was meditating that was hard to define.

I slowly began to tame my monkey mind and as I did, I noticed more and more a kind of respite or time out from the constant repetitive and destructive thoughts that had plagued me for years. The sense of calm I found during my meditation seemed in some way to flow on through my non-meditation hours.

As I developed a sense of calm, I was also learning how to sort and process thoughts that were not helpful. I was even worrying less about what the future had in store for me as the previously ever-present feeling of anxiety seemed to almost miraculously dissipate in direct correlation to the amount of time I spent in meditation. My heavy sense of grief, however, was not so obliging, but even this seemed to dissipate during my sessions as I directed my attention away from these thoughts in those moments.

I discovered many interesting and unexpected things over the next two months of meditating twice and sometimes more every day. It seemed that my whole body was enjoying the process of meditation as my persistent aches and pains that I had endured for many years seemed to almost disappear. I had to admit life felt better in many ways. Perhaps, these monks were on to something? I discussed with Banyu the surprising added benefits I was noticing from my meditation practice and he again gave me his now familiar cheeky grin accompanied by a slight nod of his head. His look resembled the smile of a proud parent when their child takes their first step.

‘Yes, Miss Sarah, it is true, the body desires to be at peace. You are now becoming aware of how your unhappy thoughts create an unhappy body, not surprising then, that the body functions best when the mind is at peace. Your meditation will benefit your body in many ways. When the mind is still the heart is happy. When the heart is happy it grows in loving kindness. When the mind is still what else has the body to do but function and heal.’

Again, he gives me a knowing smile as though he has waited for me to finally understand.

‘Meditation can relieve your pain better than any medications. The mind and the body are not separate, Miss Sarah, when the mind is not at peace the body is not at peace, but when the mind is calm the body returns to the business of functioning perfectly and this you are beginning to observe. A lesson well learned, Miss Sarah.’

Well whatever the reason, all I knew was that I was physically feeling better than I had in years, so I kept an open mind and continued to learn what I could. During these weeks of meditating and perfectly timed impromptu lessons from Banyu, I continued to venture up to the hill when I could. Lama Ngawan would be there on some days but not as often as before. He seemed happy to leave me in the care of Banyu during this time and so I happily settled into my new kind of normal.

I enjoyed the occasions Lama did make it to the hill. I was now beginning to understand just what a privilege it was to spend this private time with him and so I really began to be very present whilst in his company. Something that Banyu had taught me. My focus of attention was seemingly much improved with my ongoing meditation, my monkey mind, was on the way to being tamed. I wasn’t there yet but I was finding my ability to really be in the conversation rather than be elsewhere, was a great asset to my communications.

It was on one such occasion while I was deep in contemplation that Lama spoke to me the words I had been dreading to hear.

‘Sarah, your time here is nearing its end.’

I felt an instant surge of denial masquerading as anxiety in the pit of my stomach that felt somewhat like a physical blow that took my breath away. I instinctively opened my mouth to disagree, but quickly closed it again. Part of me knew that this was true, but there was another part of me that did not want to leave. The part that was afraid to leave, afraid of the unknown. The part that still had no idea of exactly what there was for me back home. The very same part that didn’t even know where home was anymore.